


The Drarry Files

by keyflight790



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-01 11:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15142358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: Missing files were discovered in a hidden vault, only distinguished by the faint carvings JKR on the bottom left corner.  These files were filled with passages missing from the original text.  These files are now known as The Drarry Files.





	1. File 2: Chapters 1 - 11

_"What wouldn't he give now for a message from Hogwarts?  From any witch or wizard?  He'd almost be glad of a sight of his arch-enemy, Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream..."_ \- Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, J.K. Rowling

It's not as if Harry was thinking about Draco all summer.  It was just his birthday, is all, and he didn't expect everyone to forget.  He thought back to that last moment on the train, knowing that he wasn't headed home, but rather away from home.  His summer had been slightly better than previous years; The Dursleys were terrified of him and avoiding him at all costs, opposed to their usual thread of verbal torture and neglect.

Harry thought back to his last birthday, spent on the floor of the cave, surrounded by dirt, isolated by a thick current of a dark sea.  Then, Hagrid had shown up, pink umbrella and all, and took him away.  In the end, he had to return. 

He felt that same isolation today.  In a weird way, it was worse, knowing that Hagrid wouldn't come slamming down the door at any moment.  Only one more month left, and he'd be back to the comfort of the castle.

\--

In retrospect, the morning of his birthday was now one of the best days he had all summer.  Between Dobby's ominous warnings, the letter from the Ministry of Magic Improper Use of Magic Office and the fear of never returning back to Hogwarts, Harry had slipped into a darkness he was afraid he would never return from.  The walls closed in as Uncle Vernon repeatedly teased him through the cat-flap on his door, kicking into it as he walked by.  Food was shoved in haphazardly, providing Harry small glimpses of time passing.  He huddled in the corner of his bed, struggling to stay awake, struggling to go to sleep, and struggling to remind himself that this would not be the end.

Harry thought of the previous year as a way to pass the time.  He went through every move they had made on the large Wizards Chessboard, and how the Devil's Snare had caught Ron to the point where Hermione had to gather all of her courage and blast it away.  He thought about his broomstick, and how great it felt that first ride.  How wonderful it felt to have that first catch of the Snitch, of the Key, of the Remembrall.

He had been put out at the beginning of flying lessons; of course this class was shared with Slytherin, and of course, Draco would see him make a fool of himself.  Malfoy had lept on his broomstick, flying so high and so well, even on the first day of lessons.  It had been impressive, but he did have years of practice on Harry.  When Harry kicked off, the whush of flight was unlike anything else.  He turned that memory in his head, chasing after Malfoy on his broom, the look on his face when Harry caught up to him high in the air.  Malfoy had looked happier than Harry had seen him, and Harry had felt wonderful and at ease on his broom.

It's not as if any of that mattered now.  Harry wouldn't be leaving his room, except possibly in a body bag.

\--

His first time in the Floo had been a disaster.  Spinning through fireplaces and falling face forward onto the ground, he was covered in soot.  His glasses had snapped and once again he found himself completely alone.  Fear crept in as he tried to survey his surroundings.  Blonde hair perforated his peripheral vision, and his head snapped toward the comforting color.  He let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding, as his eyes surveyed the 12-year old boy.  Malfoy was here, and if he was here, Harry couldn't be far off from where he was supposed to be.

He knew Draco couldn't see him like this, dirty, disheveled, broken.  He hid in a large cabinet, leaving just a crack to listen and see through.

 _"...everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick -"_  - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, J.K. Rowling

Had Malfoy seen him?  Is that why he was talking about him?  Harry barely caught Mr. Malfoys statement, something about hearing this a dozen times already.  Harry closed the doors so only the tiniest sliver of light shown through.  The Malfoys continued their business, making no reference or taking any glances at the large cabinet.  Harry breathed a sigh of relief, still unsure why Draco was discussing Harry at length with his father.

Draco was walking closer to the cabinet where Harry hid, face red from an offhanded remark his father had made about his grades.  Harry could see the pink rising high on his cheeks, flushing his usually pale neck.  As Draco got closer, the strong smell of wood was replaced with spicy cinnamon.  Draco's breath was just inches from the cabinet and Harry forced himself to breathe through his nose, leveling out the quickness of his heart.  He saw deep grey eyes scrutinizing the dark cabinet.  Harry should close his eyes, close them to hide the bright emerald color there, but he couldn't.  Draco froze in his step, peering even harder through the cabinet, and Harry shuddered.

"Come, Draco," came a call.  Malfoy blinked, bringing back the mobility in his legs, and walked away.

Harry couldn't wait to tell Hermione who he saw.

\--

Harry was so happy to be back at Hogwarts.  He was surrounded by his friends, had a comfortable bed, and had access to food whenever he needed.  Malfoys teasing hadn't let up, though.  First, Malfoy teased him about a girlfriend, as if Harry wanted one of those.  Then, he teased him about autographs, which he definitely knew Harry wouldn't be passing out.

He hadn't seen Draco grab the photo from Creevy.  He didn't see how Draco carefully placed it in his back pocket, making sure it stayed smooth and didn't bunch up around the edges.

\--

It didn't surprise either of them that they were the first to be picked to duel.  Harry Potter was the Boy who Lived, and Draco was king of the Slytherins.

"Scared, Potter?" muttered Malfoy.

"You wish," said Harry.

The snake rippled out of Malfoys wand, and the rest was a blur.  Parseltongue was a Slytherin trait, and Harry worried once again that he had sorted into the wrong house.  Was he the Boy who Lived and the Heir of Slytherin?  It's not as if he could ask anyone; Uncle Vernon wouldn't answer any questions about his parents, so he surely couldn't find out about his grandparents, his great-grandparents, back over a thousand years.  He did know one person who certainly knew his lineage back that far and boasted about it every chance he could get.  Harry needed to find Draco.

Harry was finally alone as Hermione and Ron headed to bed.  He hurried to his room, threw on a pair of jeans and a soft black shirt as he padded towards the mirror.  His hair was disheveled, but what was new.  A quick swipe of his toothbrush, he grabbed his invisibility cloak and headed out of the dormitory.

The Fat Lady looked confused as the portal opened and closed, yet no student could be seen.  Harry hurried down the steps, hoping to catch Draco before he settled in for the night.  Malfoy routinely had a house elf meet him near the library with a mug of hot tea close to curfew.  Harry hoped to catch him before he tucked in for the evening.

He spotted Malfoy sipping his tea as he walked towards the direction of what Harry assumed was the Slytherin common room. Harry slipped off of his Invisibility Cloak and walked towards Draco.  He rolled his shoulders back, hoping to seem confident, unsure if this was really a great idea.

"Potter," Malfoy sneered as he saw Harry approach.

"Malfoy," Harry responded.  He paused in his steps.  It was weird for Harry to see Draco out of his robes.  His green and silver striped pyjamas looked soft and worn, and the steam coming off of his mug was adding a slight curl to the front of his usually perfectly combed hair.

"What do you want," Malfoy said sternly, and Harry realized he'd been staring at that little lock slightly longer than necessary.

"Er..." Harry regrouped, "I wanted to talk about earlier."

"You mean, how I beat you in the duel, or how precious Harry Potter has a dirty little secret," Draco said with a smirk.

"I don't have a secret," Harry exclaimed.  "At least, well, I'm not sure I do."

"Spit it out, Potter, I haven't got all night and my tea is getting cold."

"Well, erm, you see, I can't trace back my lineage, so I'm just not sure..." Harry's eyes shifted at the floor.

"Want to know if you're the Heir of Slytherin, huh, Potter?  Think you're so special that you're related to one of the greatest wizards there ever was, do you?" Malfoy jibed at Harry.

"Listen, Malfoy, you don't know how lucky you are.  You know exactly who you are, exactly where you came from.  I don't.  I didn't choose to not know," Harry spat.

"Oh, geez, Potter, don't get all riled up.  This is going to take a while, I can tell.  Come on, follow me."

Draco turned and started walking back towards the library.

He put his mug on a table and motioned for Harry to sit.

"The lineage you speak of, the muggle way of looking at it, is that your blood is your fathers' blood, his fathers' blood, and so forth" Malfoy started to explain as he snapped his fingers.  A house elf appeared.

"Refresh my tea, and grab a cup for Potter here, 2 sugars, 1 milk," Draco stated to the elf, who quickly snapped back out of existence.

Harry blinked.  Draco knew how he liked his tea?  Before he could fully process this, Malfoy was speaking again.

"Lineage of Magic, however, is in your core, not in your veins.  Since it's magic..."

"We can look at it with a spell!" Harry exclaimed.

"Good boy, Potter," Draco said, raising one eyebrow.

Harry flushed.

With a pop, the house elf arrived with two steaming cups of tea.  Another pop signaled its return to the kitchen.

"Well, what's the spell?" Harry returned his gaze to Draco.

Draco smiled.  "Do I get to teach the oh so famous Harry Potter a spell?"

"Come on, Malfoy.  I'm not famous, at least not for anything I've actually done."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Malfoy chuckled.  "Give me your hand."

Draco turned his hand over and reached his palm toward Harry.  He waited and watched as Harry struggled to do the same.

"I won't bite," Draco said, smirking.

Harry flushed again, moving his hand from the comfort of the warm mug to the open palm.

Dracos palm was soft, his skin warm after holding his tea.  His thumb reached over Harrys fingers, holding it still.

"This might hurt a little," Draco warned, his eyes slightly worried. " _Legionem Corporis_ "

The wand touched where Harrys palm met his wrist.  A quick sharp pain coursed as a gold thread appeared.  Draco adjusted his wand to pull the thread longer and longer from Harrys skin, as the colors shifted from a light, shimmering gold to a deep amber, shifting again to black.  The thread tapered out, finally settling on a dark rust color.  Harry stared at the thread curiously.

"Ok, here we go."

Draco pulled the thread off of his wand and examined it closely. He tutted as he checked where the colors changed.

"I'm not sure what all of these colors mean, but I do know none of them are green.  That's a pretty clear indicator that Salazar Slytherin's magic isn't directly tied into your core," Draco stated as easily as it were the weather.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed.  He then realized that his palm remained in the hand of Draco Malfoy.  His eyes shifted to the thumb that was rubbing back and forth on his ring finger.

Draco's eyes mimicked Harrys, and he yanked his hand back.  Giving it a good shake, Malfoy placed his hand back on his now cooled mug.  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Well, erm, thanks, I guess.  Could you not tell anyone about this?" Harry said, risking a glance at the boy sitting across from him.

Draco's eyes were unfocused for just an instant.  Then he snapped back.

"Don't want your girlfriend to know you were hanging out with a bloke, huh?"

Harry grimaced.  "She's not my girlfriend, Malfoy.  I don't care if everyone knows we were hanging out.  I just would prefer you don't go telling everyone that I don't know where my magic comes from."

Draco's eyes softened.  "Sure, Potter.  Glad I could help."

"Thanks for the tea, D-Draco," Harry stuttered, extending his hand.

His green eyes met grey as Draco's soft hand once again cradled Harrys.  A small smile formed on his face.

__


	2. File 2: Chapters 12 - 18

His friends continued to brew the Polyjuice Potion, ever confident that Harry being the Heir of Slytherin was as likely as Neville perfecting his next potions assignment.  Harry knew, of course, that there were no traces of Salazar in his magic core.  He hadn't told Ron or Hermione about that night, and the comfort that they still stood behind him without this information meant more to him than anything.

After he had returned to his room that night, Harry felt a warmth in his chest.   _Must've been the tea,_ he thought as he slid into his cool sheets.  He replayed the colors he had seen, gold to rust, and pondered how the generations before him thread their magical cores together.  No trace of green, but traces of black.

He wished he had grabbed the thread, but after that awkward handshake, Harry knew he had to get out of there.  Had he really used Malfoys first name?  How would he look him in the eyes after embarrassing himself like that?  He shook his head vigorously as if trying to shake the memory from his brain.

It's not as if he hadn't seen Malfoy recently.  Draco had continued his regular torment, complete with teasing him about the new sweater that Mrs. Weasley had made just for him.  Harry pulled the sleeves tighter around himself as he recalled the snide remarks hurtled from the Slytherin table.  It wouldn't stop Harry from wearing something that someone put so much effort into, just to show that they cared about him.

One of the dark red threads had started unraveling where Harry had pulled just a little too tight, and his breath caught on a single realization. Malfoy had pulled the Potter magical history, but Harry had missed the opportunity to ask Draco to pull his own.  It had been the perfect opportunity to confirm that Draco was no more the Slytherin Heir than Harry himself.  Wouldn't Draco have just said something, though?  Surely he wouldn't have shown Harry that spell if he already knew that he was the Heir himself.

He had to know for sure.  He had to see Draco again.

\--

" _A voice suddenly echoed behind Harry and Ron. Draco Malfoy was strolling toward them, and for the first time in his life, Harry was pleased to see him._ " - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, by JK Rowling.

\--

Harry had spent the evening of February 13th in the Library.  He was digging through old records of the school, searching for any mention of T.M. Riddle.  Hermione had dismissed any further discussion about the diary's contents, after magickly determining that no entries were hidden in its pages.  The itch of curiosity still burned in Harry, and he was determined to learn as much about this mysterious diaries owner as he could.

His research, however, was slow-paced as every third or fourth turn of a page he glanced up at the table in front of him.  It was the same one that Draco had sat that night, and Harry was curious to see if a familiar face would join that table again.  He still didn't know what happened to the thread, to the colors that blended throughout, and he ached for the chance to study the history again.

It was while Harry was opening the third book he had brought from the shelves that he heard a light tap in front of him.  Draco sat, holding his cup of tea, eyebrows raised towards Harry.

"Having trouble studying, Potter? What, with the whole school wondering who you're going to stun next?" Draco inquired, with a glint in his eyes.

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry grunted, finally looking at Draco.  This boy, over everyone else, knew the truth about Harry, and still continued to berate him.

"Come off it, Potter, I'm just having a tease," grinned Malfoy.

Harry shook his head and looked back down at the book.

He heard a quick snap, some shuffling, and saw a mug of warm tea placed in front of him.

Draco settled into the chair across from him, cradling his mug.  The steam was once again pushing a small curl out of Draco's usually tame locks.

Harry grew flustered, feeling his cheeks warm after catching himself once again staring at Malfoys hair.

"What book you got there, Potter?  Ways to disappoint your girlfriend?" mused Draco.

"Once again, Malfoy, I don't. have. a girlfriend." Potter exclaimed.  He didn't know why Draco was so hung up on this.  Harry wasn't even sure he wanted a girlfriend.  He had other things on his mind at the moment.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "What are you doing then?" Draco murmured.  "Studying for Potions?"

"Do you really want to know?" Harry asked, meeting Dracos stare.

Draco simply smirked.

Harry didn't know if he could trust Draco with this kind of information.  After all, he didn't really know how the diary had made it into his hands in the first place, or whether T. M. Riddle had anything to do with the chamber.

He pushed the book in front of him across the table, carefully avoiding the cups of tea.

" _Hogwarts: the 1900's_?" Draco stated.  "Looking for the heir in this century?"

"I'm, well, I don't know exactly what I'm looking for," said Harry, "but I think I'll know when I find it."

"Of course you will.  Things are just perfect for Harry bloody Potter."

Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"Having your parents killed isn't perfect, Malfoy," Harry spat.  "Not knowing why my eyes or green, or, or why my hair is almost black or why I speak Parseltongue isn't bloody perfect."

When he opened his eyes, soft grey was staring back at him.

"You know, I might know, er, what you're looking for, if you, you know, want my help?" Draco questioned, barely above a whisper.

"Just forget it, Malfoy.  It's just a stupid diary anyway."

Harry stood, placing Riddles diary back into his robes and casting the books back onto the shelves.  He stomped angrily out of the library.

Draco watched Harry leave.  His mind stumbled over what Potter had said about a diary as he looked down at two cups of very cold tea.

\--

" _What's going on here?" came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Harry started stuffing everything feverishly into his ripped bag, desperate to get away before Malfoy could hear his musical valentine._

 _His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,_  
_His hair is as dark as a blackboard._  
_I wish he was mine, he's really divine,_  
_The hero who conquered the Dark Lord._ " - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, JK Rowling

Draco didn't know if he'd be there when Harry received his valentine.  He wrote it in haste that morning, the first two lines coming so easily.  Crabbe and Goyle started his way, and Malfoy was forced to write down the first thing he could think of that rhymed with Blackboard.  At least that last line wouldn't give him away.  There's no way Potter could imagine that Draco thought he was a _hero_.  Draco had just heard it every day for the past two years, and he needed to write something.

He hoped the Valentine would embarrass him, that preferably the dwarf would interrupt Potions and Snape would have another reason to turn on perfect Harry Potter.  Draco's cheeks reddened when he heard the melody on the stairs.  He stared at Harry, ripping through the crowd, spilling his bag, smashing his ink.  A smudge of scarlet rubbed across his forehead, very close to the scar he always kept hidden.

Draco stared hard at that smudge, so bright in contrast to his dark, unruly hair.  Crabbe elbowed him, and Draco instantly looked to the floor, cheeks burning further.  It was then he saw the diary, cast across the floor, so close he could reach it.

He couldn't help but wonder what secrets Potter was keeping in his precious diary as he dipped quickly and grabbed the book.

\--

Harry reached into his trunk and grabbed his invisibility cloak.  Hermione was up in the infirmary, frozen in place.  Harry would do anything to help her, including talking to Malfoy.

He carefully walked to the Library, avoiding Mrs. Norris who was currently guarding one of the staircases.  Curfew was set at six, giving him only fifteen minutes to find Malfoy.

Luckily for Harry, Draco was a creature of habit.  He was walking quickly back towards where Harry now knew was the Slytherin Dungeons.  Harry quickly removed the cloak, grabbed Draco by the elbow, and started back toward the library.

"Potter, what in the bloody hell are you doing?" Draco sneered.

"I need your help," Potter said with a small shrug.

He pulled Draco through the main entrance of the library but steered the boy left when they arrived at their usual table.  He instead pushed Malfoy into a corner, and quickly covered them both with his cloak.

Draco's eyes widened as Harry cast a quick  _lumos_ , the light not leaving the confines of the fabric.

"Is this - you have an invisibility cloak?" Draco gasped.

Potter shuffled, ducking to make sure the cloak was covering their feet.  Malfoy was slightly taller than Harry, and Harry motioned for Draco to tilt his head down and allow the fabric to pool on the floor.

When he stood back up, Harry was greeted with the smell of spicy cinnamon.  Draco's face was mere inches from Harrys, surrounded by the soft glow of his wand.

Draco and Harry's eyes locked for what felt like hours, but was mere seconds, before Malfoy raised his right eyebrow.

"What do you want, Potter, and why are we under this stupid cape," Draco asked.  His voice came out in a deep whisper.

"Er, yeah.  It was my dads," Harry rubbed the back of his neck shyly.

Draco continued to stare.

"Oh, yeah, well, you see Hermione..."

"Yes, yes, the M-."

"Don't call her that," Harry bit.

Malfoy drew his lips into a hard line.

"Right.  _Granger_ was the latest victim.  I heard."

Harry was watching Draco's lips as he swallowed back that word he seemed to enjoy so much.  It seemed almost like he was trying.  If Malfoy was willing to try, then the least Harry could do was try as well.

Harry reached into his robes, pulled out Riddles diary and pushed it into Draco's hands before he could think too much.

Draco's hands mirrored the movement, his fingertips sliding over Harrys as he took the book.  Their eyes met again, a small smile barely touching the edges of Draco's lips.

Harry adjusted his wand so Draco could flip through the seemingly blank pages.

"It's empty," Draco stated plainly.  "If it's empty, what's the big deal about it?"

"I think it's the diary of whoever opened the chamber," Harry said quickly, not wanting to divulge that he had been writing in an empty journal and it had been writing back.

Draco flipped to the first page, reading the text.  Harry was watching his face, hoping for any sign of recognition.  Draco's face remained plain as he closed the book with a hard snap and handed it back to Harry.

"I'm not sure what I can do with a blank book, Potter," Draco said softly.  The smell of cinnamon filled the air again.

Harry dropped his wand to his side, diminishing light from their faces and sending it to the floor.  He felt defeated once more.

"I can't help her," Harry mumbled, so quietly that Draco had to tilt his head closer to hear.  "She's the closest thing I've got to family and I can't save her."

Draco shifted and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.  "It'll be ok, H-, erm, Potter."

Harry glanced at his shoulder, surprised to feel a slender hand resting there.  He looked up at Draco, seeing only a glint of silver in the darkened space.  A thumb circled warmly against his shoulder.

Harry shifted his feet, bringing his wand closer to his face. He wanted to see what Draco looked like when he wasn't being a daft prick to him.  As soon as the light reached his chin, Draco slid his hand quickly off of Harry's shoulder and resumed his tight-lipped demeanor.

"Anything else, Potter?" Draco said blankly.

"No.  I guess not," Harry said.  "Er, thanks, Malfoy."

"Don't mention it," Draco pointed. "Not like you'd tell anyone, anyway."

Malfoy then bent under the invisibility cloak and hurried out of the library, not caring if he was caught out during curfew or not.

\--

Lucius was furious when Draco arrived back at Malfoy Manor for the summer.

"That damn Potter lost me a perfectly good house elf, he did," his father spat as he slammed his fist against the porcelain countertop.

Draco slumped low in his seat.  He had known Dobby his entire life.  Dobby had been there after his Father had scolded him for leaving his robes in a mess on the floor, and had held his hand as Lucius had Vanished his favorite toy dragon when Draco had accidentally forgotten it outside.  Dobby stayed up late with Draco when he was afraid of the dark, and listened to stories Draco told him about how he and the magnificent Harry Potter would be the best of friends.

Later that night, Draco crept to the door of his parents' room, desperate to know what had truly happened to Harry and his favorite house elf.  The heavy whispers were hard to decipher, but Draco thought he heard his father say that the diary was a huge waste of time.

Draco couldn't sleep that night, nor the night after that, nor the night after that.

 

 

 


	3. File 3: Chapters 1 - 5

Draco Malfoy packed his truck carefully, making sure each item aligned itself perfectly in its compartment.  His robes were folded meticulously, stacked by color and placed in the far right corner.  His ties and socks followed, along with fresh quills, parchment, and his latest stack of required reading and books for the next term.  Draco nestled his freshly polished shoes in the narrow gap between his clothing and his books, placing his signed permission slip to Hogsmeade on top, confirming that the ink blotters resting next to it would not spill.

A voice coughed, calling out his name from far down the hall.  Grabbing a thread from his desk, and placing it delicately on the blackness of his robes, Draco took one last glance to admire the gold spindling into rust as he closed the trunk and headed out the door.

The summer had left him feeling isolated, cut off from the Wizarding world.  Ever since his father had been sacked as Governor, he'd been destroying the Daily Profit right after reading every page.  Draco had only caught words as they smoldered into the flames.  Words like _Chamber_ and  _Hero_  and _Potter_.

His friends hadn't stopped by all summer; Draco insisted it was because his friends were  _busy_ of course, and just hadn't the time to say hello.  It certainly wasn't because Father was no longer school Governor, and it definitely wasn't because his father had failed at removing Dumbledore permanently from his post.  He disregarded the lack of letters and practiced his steady facial expression every time an owl tapped at the Malfoy Manor residence.  Towards the end of summer, Draco had mastered his dispassionate stare.

His parents insisted on following Draco through the platform, even though he insisted he was old enough to enter the partition on his own, thank you very much.  The train was sending up a stream of warning smoke, preparing for it's quickly impending departure.  Draco threw an arm around his mother, leaning in close to smell the faint scent of oranges that he always missed when he was away.  He saw her blink back only the slightest of tears as he motioned to his father, offering his hand for a quick handshake.  Lucius raised his eyebrows but took his son's hand for the briefest of moments.

Draco gave both of his parents a quick nod, and scurried to the train, hopping onboard right behind Crabbe and Goyle.  He followed the two boys as they searched the cars, headed towards the sound of boisterous laughter.

The compartment, previously full of noise, quickly quieted as Draco stepped through the door.  He nodded to his left, seeing Pansy Parkinson with her head resting on the shoulder of Blaise Zabini.  Draco pulled his stare, swallowing the silence that now evaded the space.  He looked right, seeing Crabbe and Goyle taking up the whole seat.

"Well," he looked at Goyle, "Shove over."  He motioned for the boys to move as he placed his suitcase above in the bin.

"Hello, Draco," Pansy stated curtly.  "Have a good summer?"

"It was fine," Draco stated, crunching his fist.  He was pleased his tone remained balanced.  

"And hows your Father," Pansy quipped.  Blaise let out a snicker.

Draco felt heat rise from the base of his throat.  He swallowed heavily.

"My father was busy most of the summer, working with the _Minister for Magic,_ " he exaggerated, watching Pansy's eyes get wide.  "He and Cornelius Fudge are devising a plan to, well, I probably shouldn't tell you.  Top secret, you know," He watched, hoping she'd take the bait.

"Really?" Pansy was such a gossip, and Draco knew just how to entice her. 

"He's working with the Minister?  On what?" she questioned, her head no longer leaning on Blaise.  Zabini looked at his empty shoulder, disappointed.

"Maybe I'll tell you later," Malfoy smirked, feeling his fist unclench.

"First, I need to run an errand.  Crabbe, Goyle, with me."

The two boys, who'd previously been silent boulders, quickly jumped to their feet to follow Malfoy out of the car.

__

Potter's compartment wasn't hard to find.  He knew the Gryffindors always circulated towards the front of the stairs, and the faint smell of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans along with a plethora of chocolate allowed him to easily find Ron Weasley.  He quickly straightened his tie.

 _"Well, look who it is," said Malfoy in his usual lazy drawl, pulling open the compartment door. "Potty and the Weasel."_ \- Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Potty?  Had Draco really just called him Potty?  He'd been thinking of insults he could swing at Potter all summer, and the best he pulled out at the moment was the loo?  He quickly diverted into insulting Weasley.  It wasn't until after his crack about the Weasley lack of wealth that Potter looked directly at Draco.  A glimmer of a smile was quickly replaced by Harry's usual look of contempt, that he seemed to only hold for Malfoy.

 _"C'mon," he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappeared."_   - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

__

Draco had never seen a Dementor.  He had read about them, had heard his father talk about them and Azkaban, and how his friends were still there.  He knew that they feasted on happiness, but Draco couldn't remember many times feeling happy anyway.  It wasn't until they were there, feasting on his own hopes, dreams, and desires, that Draco fully realized what emptiness was.

Draco felt the Dementors long before he saw them.  He thought, at first, that the cold was from leaving the warmth coming from Harry's compartment.  He assumed that the chill was caused by the rain gathering outside.  It wasn't until the train lurched, freezing the three boys in the passage that Draco realized something was very wrong.

Crabbe saw the hooded figure first.  It was gliding towards them at a fast pace, searching quickly through crystalized windows.  Draco watched as it stopped, hovering in front of the doorway they just left.  He froze as he watched the Dementors fingers pry open the door and reach towards where he knew Harry was sitting.

Draco ran to the next car, breathing heavy, desperate to flee and desperate to get help. He toppled over ginger hair and lanky legs, as Crabbe and Goyle tumbled in right behind him.

"What's wrong with you, you git?" George, or was it Fred, started, his eyes wide from the intrusion.

"Tha-, there's a-, and Har-," Draco stuttered, breathing heavy.

"Freddie, look," George, definitely George, whispered as he pointed towards their own door glass as it crystalized slowly. Fred grasped at the handle, yanking the door closed.

The temperature in the car dropped rapidly as Draco watched as a hooded figure slowly drifted past.  

The cold didn't bother Draco.  The Manor was full of empty hallways, drafty rooms, and uncomfortable furniture.  Draco often wore two pairs of socks and long robes to bed, while curled tightly under his Parisian comforter.  

What surprised Draco was the depletion of well-being.  He could feel it leaking out of his fingertips, dripping off of the sharp angle of his nose, rolling down the backs of his knees.  He whimpered, breathing in the harsh smell of rotten oranges and curdled milk. 

Suddenly, a flash of light shot down the hall.  The brightness made Draco fall back into Fred's, yes it was definitely Fred's lap, as he watched the frosted window return to its previous clarity.

"What in the bloody hell was that," mumbled George as Draco crawled out of the other twin.

"Dementors, I believe," Draco croaked.  He stood and straightened his robes.  His hands were shaky as he raised them to check his hair.  "We best be off.  C'mon," he motioned to Crabbe and Goyle urgently.

Draco's heart was racing as he exited the car.  Crabbe made a muffled noise as he followed Draco right instead of left, away from the Slytherin cars and towards the front of the train.  Draco halted as he approached, breathing quietly and clenching his fingers together.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Draco heard an unfamiliar voice ask the question that was sitting on his tongue.

"Fine," he heard Harry mumble.  Draco leaned against the wall of the passage in relief, his breath steadying into an even pace.

"Erm, Draco, shouldn't we be..." Goyles deep voice infiltrated Draco as he snapped back to the situation at hand.

"Yes, let's," Draco coughed, running a hand on his hair once more, making sure not a single strand was out of place. He swung his robes and headed towards the back of the train.

\--

Blaise had an arm swung around Pansy's shoulders as the three boys approached their traincar.  Once she saw Draco, however, she wiggled out of Zabinis grasp and reached out a palm to Draco's face.  

"Are you alright, Draco?" Pansy asked, her face full of concern.  "The Dementors, it was so cold, and you were...well, where were you?"

"I'm fine, darling," Draco cooed, sending a smirk towards Blaise.  "We were just leaving Potter's car when we-"

"Potter, really?  Couldn't wait 'til the banquet, had to see your boyfriend now?" Blaise shot.   

Draco's cheeks flared.  "How dare you," he bellowed as he pulled his wand on Zabini.  

Blaise put his hands up, offering a small show of surrender.  "I'm just saying, you spend a lot of time worrying about Potter."

"Nonsense," Draco spat, pushing his wand back into his pocket.  "I loathe him."  

"Then why did we head back to-"

"Shut it, Crabbe," Draco shouted, pushing him back into the seat.  Draco angrily plopped down next to him, eyes fixated on the window and the darkened pastures whipping by.


	4. File 3: Chapters 6 - 8

Draco Malfoy was still reeling from that day on the train.  His  _friends_ had begun to hang on his every word again, especially after he had spun such an exaggerated tale of his father's current meetings with Fudge.  Draco knew how to carefully manipulate his words, making a simple apology Owl that Lucius had received after his demotion as Governor turn into a full correspondence with the Ministry for Magic about pure-bloods and their rightful spot as rulers.  Malfoy had even hinted that Cornelius wanted Lucius to run for Minister once he retired.  Draco smiled to himself when he saw Blaise's eyes go wide, and he was thankful that no other Slytherins parents were close enough to Fudge to know how false this statement was.

If only Malfoy could get Parkinson to stop teasing him about bloody Potter.

"Crabbe said you went back to check on Potter after the Dementors, is that true?" she quipped, watching the blush rise from the back of Draco's neck.

"You know that git doesn't know his right from his left," Draco mumbled.

"You're always looking at him," Pansy laughed, elbowing Blaise in the stomach.

"Yeah, Draco, you're always talking about hi-" Blaise started, but stopped short when Draco turned and lunged towards his face.

"My father always said to keep my friends close, and my enemies closer.  The Dark Lord would be proud of my efforts to make Potter's life miserable," Draco spat, anger welling deep within his chest.

His words had it's desired effect.  Blaise curled back into his chair, simply raising his eyebrows in defeat.

"Now," Draco stepped back, straightening his robes and running a cautious hand through his hair, "I'm off to figure out how to get into this stupid  _Monster Book of Monsters_ before that oaf of a teacher attempts to teach us tomorrow."

Draco snapped up his bag and headed out of the common room and towards the library.

\--

Malfoy walked slowly, pausing every few moments to listen for approaching footsteps.  He wasn't hoping to run into Potter, definitely not.  He knew their meetings last year hadn't meant anything.  Potter just needed a wizard who was smarter and brighter, and more familiar with magic than even his precious Granger was.  Of course, he would seek him out.  Draco was, after all, the smartest in their year.  Well, the smartest pure-blood in their year.

Yes, he certainly wasn't keeping an eye out for dark hair and dark glasses as he sat at the table in the library.  Draco was just thirsty, and that's why he'd summoned two cups.  It's always nice to try something new, he thought as he swallowed the overly sweet tea with difficulty.

With only five minutes left until curfew, Draco packed up his bag, checking the restraints on his  _Monster Book_ , and walked gloomily down to the dungeons.

\--

_It happened in a flash of steely talons; Malfoy let out a high-pitched scream and next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Malfoy, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes. [...] Harry saw that there was a long, deep gash on Malfoy's arm; blood spattered the grass and Hagrid ran with him, up the slope toward the castle. - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, JK Rowling_

\--

Pansy had just left the medical wing when Harry walked in.  Draco squared his shoulders, trying to look as confident as he could dressed in a flimsy gown and tucked under an awful pink quilt.  It was the only one Madame Pomfrey had clean, or so she said.  Malfoy was almost positive the old hag was just trying to embarrass him.

"Malfoy," Harry greeted calmly.  Draco could practically feel the disdain dripping from his lips.

"Potter," Malfoy shrugged, trying his best to act as if he certainly didn't care that Potter was there and possibly concerned about his health.

Harry glanced at the bandage covering Draco's right arm.  "Does it hurt?" he asked.

Draco couldn't tell if Harry was putting him on.  "Of course it hurts, Potter.  A bloody bird attacked my arm and split it open."

Harry bit his lip, trying not to roll his eyes.  "It's not as if Pomfrey didn't patch you up already," Harry mumbled.

"She tried," Draco grunted, "but she couldn't.  Turns out that bloody chicken's talons contain venom that rejects most of her healing potions."

"Oh," Harry said.  "So, will it scar?"

"No, Potter, I won't have any scars to compete with your oh so magnificent one," Draco miffed.

"That's not what I meant," Harry muttered.

The two sat in silence as Harry traced the floorboards with his shoe.

"So, will you-"

"I'll be back in class in just a couple of days.  Pomfrey says we just have to wait for the venom to dissolve and I'll be good as new," Draco said, a slight smile tracing across his lips.

"That's, well, I was going to ask if you were going to tell your father," Harry questioned, barely meeting Draco's eyes.

"Oh," Draco said quietly.

Harry watched as Draco's face hardened once again, his mouth pushing into a thin line.  "Yes, well Pomfrey had to send an Owl already considering Hagrid's monster put me in here a couple of days."

"Right,"  Harry stared at Malfoys lips, "Right."

"I think you should go now, Potter," Draco said, hiding the anger that was bubbling right beneath his skin.

"Draco, I," Harry started.

"Just go already!" Draco shouted, pushing up off of the bed.

"Right," Harry repeated after a moment, glancing at the impenetrable grey eyes across from him.

He turned and walked out of the wing, mumbling to himself.

Once Harry was no longer visible, Draco allowed one solitary tear to fall before pulling the pink quilt over his head and tucking in for the night.

\--

He doubted anyone had missed his absence but was still angered when only Parkinson asked him how his arm was feeling during Potions.  Harry knew that Draco had venom in him, had been in pain for days, and still didn't care how he was feeling.  Draco knew if he was one of the  _chosen_ friends, Harry wouldn't waste any time making sure he was taken care of.  Harry would have even made sure whatever hurt Draco was taken care of.  Yet, Draco wasn't  _chosen._   Harry hadn't even cared enough to visit again, even though he had visited Granger every day last year when she wasn't even awake.  Draco clenched his fists, itching to make Potter know how much he didn't care that he was forgotten in the hospital wing, alone.

It had felt good to watch Harry chop Draco's shrivelfig, watching his disdain as he was ordered around by the professor that hated him and loved Draco so much.  He relished in getting a rise out of Potter, making sure that he wouldn't forget Draco again. 

It was only by chance he heard Finnigan whisper something about Sirius Black.

Draco knew who Sirius Black was.  Draco's mother was a Black herself, after all, and Draco had heard stories.  Stories about how Sirius had murdered all of those people, how he was on the run, how he was sorted into Gryffindor, and shared a room with...James Potter.

 _Interesting,_ Draco thought as he watched Harry's face closely.  

_"Don't you know, Potter?" breathed Malfoy, his pale eyes narrowed. - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, JK Rowling_

Draco knew how to spin his words, building intrigue as he questioned Potter, testing to see how much he knew.  A low, sneering laugh escaped his lips as he realized, Potter knew nothing at all.

\--

_"Harry, Ron, and Hermione climbed the steps to the entrance hall.  Harry was still thinking about what Malfoy had said..." - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, JK Rowling_

\--

Draco wasn't surprised in the least to see Harry sitting at the table in the Library.  He held his cup of tea as he sat down, not acknowledging the boy who sat in the chair directly across from him.  He simply opened up his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook

He could feel Harry staring at him from behind his dark-rimmed frames, and it took everything in Draco's power to not look up.  He turned a page, took a sip of tea,  turned another page.  

It wasn't until he inked his quill and began to write his essay that he heard a cough from the other side of the table.  Draco smirked, finally lifting his eyes to meet piercing emerald green.

"Oh, Potter, I didn't see you there," Draco smiled curtly.

"You bloody well did," Harry huffed.  "What was that all about in Potions?"

"Were you not able to shrink your tadpole properly?  Tsk, tsk," he shook his head.  "My ingredients were perfectly sliced so my potion worked wonderfully," Draco chided.

"You know what I mean, Malfoy.  What was all that stuff about Black about?"

"Oh, Potter, it's not for me to explain.  Besides," he ventured, "I don't appreciate being used."

Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes and folding his arms in front of him.

"What are you talking about," Harry blurted.

Draco leaned in, close enough to Harry's face that he could see each individual strand of his eyelashes.

"I mean," he started, "you only seem to speak to me when you need something."

Harry opened his mouth, but his words were caught in his throat.  Their eyes met, and Draco marveled at how the emerald practically glistened in the harsh library light.

"Do you need something from me, Harry?" Draco asked, surprised at the sudden gravel in his voice.  He watched as Harry's eyes dilated, black pooling into green.

Draco swallowed. Harry's cheeks grew flush as he knocked his leg into Draco's beneath the table.  Harry's breath hitched at the contact.   _Isn't that interesting,_ Draco mused.

"What do you need, Harry?" he pushed, surprised at the huskiness in his voice.  He watched as Harry released a strong pulse of air, sending a wave of cool mint towards Draco.

"I-, erm," he sputtered, his eyes glossy, his cheeks pink.  Harry couldn't seem to meet Draco's eyes.

"I've got to go," Harry croaked, grabbing his bag as he practically ran back to the Gryffindor common room. 

\--

Harry panted as he flung himself on the scarlet sofa.  His heart was racing, and Harry didn't think it had anything to do with the marathon he just put himself through.  His mind kept running through the previous events, Malfoy, the smell of peppermint, the deep pools of grey, the sound of his voice as he-

"No!" Harry slammed his fists against the sofa.

"Alright, mate?" Ron strode by, checking quickly under the cushions behind Harry's head.

"Fine," Harry muttered, pushing his fingers together on the bridge of his nose.  "What're you doing?" he asked as his head once again hit the soft pillow. 

"Looking for Scabbers.  You haven't seen 'em, have you?"

Harry shook his head and closed his eyes, trying not to picture blonde hair twirled in his fingers.  

\--

_Filch, the caretaker, was standing inside the front doors, checking off names against a long list, peering suspiciously into every face, and making sure that no one was sneaking out who shouldn't be going._

_"Staying here, Potter?" shouted Malfoy, who was standing in line with Crabbe and Goyle." Scared of passing the dementors?" - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, JK Rowling_

\--

Harry hadn't expected to see Malfoy again until they were circling the Quidditch field at the first game of the season.  He certainly hadn't expected to see him at what Harry now considered their table in the library, hunched over his empty teacup and _Unfogging the Future_.

Harry had just come from meeting Lupin in the Astronomy tower, his mind stuck on why the goblet was smoking, curious as to why Snape of all people was so insistent Lupin drink whatever potion was in there.

The sight of flaxen-blonde hair, however, wiped his mind clean of previous events.

"Skipping Hogsmeade?" Potter gaped at Draco.  He guessed they were the only third years left in the castle at this point.

"Yes, well, my father was very busy this summer, you know, dealing with the Minister for Magic."  He checked Harry's expression, huffing slightly to see no reaction at his mention of Fudge.  "He simply didn't have time to sign my slip."

"Hmm," Harry grumbled as he took a seat, pulling out his own Divination textbook.  The boys sat, the scratching of quills and turning of pages the only noise between them.

"So, Malfoy, what are your tea leaves showing your  _inner eye?"_ Harry suddenly questioned, attempting to mimic the soft misty voice he associated with Professor Trelawney. 

Draco let out a stifled laugh, coming out more as a cough.  "Well, Potter, it looks as if I have a sort-of equilateral triangle, but I have no idea what that means."

"Come on, Malfoy,  _broaden your mind, see past the mundane!"_ Harry sang.

Draco threw his head back and laughed.  

It was the first time Harry saw Draco laugh.  His stomach clenched.

He'd never seen anything as beautiful as Draco's laugh.  He desperately wanted him to do it again.

Draco settled his gaze, noticing that Harry's face had softened.

He raised his eyebrow towards Potter questioningly as Harry continued to stare.

Draco leaned in, just a little bit, just slightly closer.

"Need something, Potter?"

A low groan escaped Harry's lips as a heat rose from the back of his neck. 

Draco kept their eyes locked steadily, waiting. 

"I think, erm, I..." Harry's voice trailed off as he heard footsteps approaching. 

The library was suddenly full of bags slinging on backs of chairs, books hitting tables as students tried to get some work done after their day in Hogsmeade.

"Right," Harry stood, rubbing the back of his neck trying to force down the heat gathering there.  "I need to get back to the common room.  Ron will be looking for me."

"Sure, Potter," Draco motioned with a flip of his wrist, shaking his head slightly.

Harry rushed once again from the stacks of books to the safety of his Common Room. 

 


	5. File 3: Chapter 9

_"C'mon," Ron said to Harry and Hermione; they seized three sleeping bags and dragged them into a corner. - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, JK Rowling_

_The candles all went out at once.  The only light now came from the silvery ghosts, who were drifting about talking seriously to the prefects, and the enchanted ceiling, which, like the sky outside was scattered with stars.  What with that, and the whispering that still filled the hall, Harry felt as though he were sleeping outdoors in a light wind.  - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, JK Rowling_

Harry's eyes felt heavy, but he knew sleep wouldn't come tonight.  He heard Ron breathing heavy on his right, the consistent snores a comfort as Harry started counting the stars above.  A shift on his left caught his attention just as he was nearing eighty-six.

"Scared, Potter?" Malfoy whispered.  Harry turned, seeing how Malfoy's eyes almost sparkled like the enchanted ceiling.  Though the light was dim, he could make out that Draco's face wore one of concern, opposed to malice.

Harry exhaled, and turned his body on its side to face the blonde-haired boy.

"Can you please just tell me what you know?" Harry pleaded in his quietest voice.

Draco nodded his head.  This had gone too far, and Harry's life was seemingly on the line.

"My Mother, did you know she's from the Noble House of Black?" Draco started.

"I'm sorry, what?  Is that some kind of royalty?"

"Erm, not exactly.  Have you heard of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?"  Harry just shook his head.  "Right, well there are 28 Brittish families that are truly pure-blood, and the Noble House of Black is one of those.  So are the Malfoys.  Actually, Weasels on there too," Draco added.

"Malfoy, you know it doesn't matter if someones pure-blood or half-blood or muggle-born," Harry inserted.

"Well, my family values it's importance a great deal," Malfoy refuted, his voice raising a tick.

Harry and Draco stopped speaking, listening to confirm the silence remained around them.

"So, Black, he's, erm, related to you?" Harry resumed whispering

"His lineage is connected to my Mother's, yes.  I believe he is a son of my Great-Aunts."

"Tell me what you know, Malfoy," Harry's voice was low, and Draco could feel anger pulsing off of him.

"Not much.  My mother doesn't like to talk about blood traitors," Draco added.

"Blood traitor?  Merlin, why does this matter so much to you?" Harry rolled his eyes, annoyed that their conversations always led back to this.

"Tradition is important to my parents," Draco shrugged, resting his hands on his stomach, staring at the artificial sky.

He had overheard endless talks from his parents and their friends about the sanctity of Wizarding magic.  Their fear rested in the fact that if Magic became too muddled, it could disappear forever.  The sacred twenty-eight, (well, not so much the Weasleys) had dedicated themselves to making sure magic would remain in their core for generations to come.  Draco knew when it was time, he would be forced to choose an offspring of one of these families, and deliver an heir  It was expected of him; Draco had accepted his fate long ago.

Draco felt a brief jolt of pressure as Harry nudged him in the arm.  The bandage was still wrapped tightly around him, hiding the gash that was fading slowly.  He turned to look at Harry.

"I know he killed.  I know he's on the run," Draco whispered.

 _I know he knew your father_ , ran across Draco's mind, but he bit his lip.  Harry had a nasty habit of running headfirst into danger.  Draco had witnessed him running directly towards a troll their first year.  Of course, it was to save Granger, one of his  _chosen_.  Malfoy could practically see Harry jumping out of his sleeping bag, barefoot and in his Gryffindor pyjamas, running out of the hall towards Black.

No, that would not do.  Especially since he seemed to have Harry's attention all to himself for the moment.

"Yes, well I gathered that much myself," Harry muffed.

Draco turned again to face the ceiling.

"Well then, Potter, if you don't need me once again, perhaps I'll just go to sleep."

"No, wait," Harry whispered, grabbing onto Draco's wrist.

Draco shifted, feeling the heat of Harry's hands on his arm, but he didn't pull away.

"Hows your, erm," Harry questioned, rubbing his thumb against the bottom of the fraying bandage.

"You mean my wound from that bloody beast?" Malfoy gritted his teeth.  "It's fine."  The pain was tolerable as one of Madame Pomfreys potions had finally breached the pus-covered incision.  The soft caress of Harry's thumb wasn't displeasing either.

"Good," Harry acknowledged.  "Are you excited about the match?"

"I'm excited to beat you, if that's what you mean," Draco laughed snidely.

"In your dreams, Malfoy," Harry chuckled.

The boys discussed Quidditch, brooms, their favorite competitive teams well into the night.  At some point, Harry had let go of Draco's wrist, but his hand remained pressed against him, knuckle to knuckle.

It wasn't until three in the morning, when Dumbledore came in, that both boys closed their eyes and pretended to be asleep.  Harry heard the Headmaster discussing the search findings with Percy and Snape, listening attentively as Snape expressed his concerns about Blacks entrance into Hogwarts.  When Dumbledore left the hall, Harry glanced quickly to his left.  Draco's eyes remained closed, his breathing steady, the stars above reflecting across his pale skin.

_Harry glanced sideways at Ron and Hermione.  Both of them had their eyes open too, reflecting the starry ceiling.  "What was that about?" Ron mouthed. - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, JK Rowling_

\--

Draco had felt terrible when Madame Pomfrey still hadn't cleared him for flying by the weekend.  Flint had marched right up to the medical wing during his latest visit, yelling about forfeiting their first match of the year, until he saw the unwrapped arm of his star Seeker.

The skin below his bandage was shriveled and pale, almost translucent, except for an angry welt twisting from his elbow to his wrist.  Malfoy clenched his teeth as drops of potion sizzled on the infection, burning off patches of bubbly black puss.

"He has at least one more week of treatment, Marcus." Madame Pomfrey stated as she applied more potion.  Draco pinched his eyes closed, unable to watch as chunks of his arm seemed to crumble off.

"I'll speak to the Headmaster about moving the schedule around," she offered.  "No forfeiting will be necessary."

Flint seemed relieved, but Draco was furious.  He wanted to be back in the air, back on the broom, back chasing the snitch with Potter.   _Against Potter,_ he corrected himself.  The Gryffindor/Slytherin game was the most important one of the year, and Draco had been practicing all summer for this.  _It's not as if I had anything else to do,_ Draco reminded himself glumly as he thought back to those empty hot months, flying alone above the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

\--

Malfoy assumed he'd be thrilled that those insufferable Gryffindors finally lost a game.  The rain was pouring down, whipping around all of the students that gathered in the stands.  It hadn't infiltrated the trio's umbrella, but Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were still freezing, eyes watching the brooms and bodies collide throughout the game.

Draco couldn't take his eyes off of Harry; he was soaked within minutes of entering the field, his scarlet robes clinging to narrow frame.  Harry's hair, which usually stood with wild abandon, was plastered against his cheeks.  Hermione had spelled his glasses dry during a time-out, allowing Draco to follow unencumbered emerald green throughout the field.  Thunder clapped and lightning forked around them as Draco murmured small prayers that the game would end quickly.

 

His breath caught in his throat as he watched Harry's hands slip, sliding haphazardly against the drenched broomstick.

"NO!" Malfoy screamed, his voice pounding through the rain.  He ran out from underneath the umbrella towards the dark body that was careening towards the ground floor.

It was then that Malfoy felt the Dementors.

His mouth was agape as hundreds of them appeared, sliding freely through the freezing water.  Draco felt the emptiness starting in his toes and rising upwards as emotions of fear, loss, and ache drained out of him.  The empty feeling was almost a relief as he watched Harry, the Boy who Lived, fall surely to his death.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything. Snippets of this text are straight out of the Harry Potter books by JK Rowling and Scholastic Press.
> 
> Love the love! If you're enjoying the files, please let me know! It's been really fun reading the books this way, hunting for those pieces that you know got left on the cutting room floor. The saying goes, "Kill your Darlings," so we all know how much Mama Jo must have loved Draco & Harry since she cut them all out!
> 
>  
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/keyflight790)


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